Tag Archives: daughters

Be the one.

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Saleha, my oldest daughter texted me, “I’m in fucking Rockville, I’m angry and nauseous.”

“Want to talk?”

She kept going.

“This lady said she was a better immigrant because she’s white and from a European country. And that I’ve been brainwashed by the media to think that what’s happening at the border is bad. And she told us that we had no idea because we’re not immigrants. I told her I was a child of an immigrant, but she told us how bad SHE had it and that whatever is happening now isn’t as bad.”

“At what point did you walk away?”

“She wouldn’t stop talking. I interrupted her at some point and said have a nice day. Next time I’m going to tell people that I hope they are capable of developing some compassion.”

Saleha is canvassing for the ACLU this summer, raising money for immigration and abortion rights. She wanted to help the best way possible in a short period of time, and she’s one of the top fundraisers on her team. She’s never done this before. She’s studying to be a biomedical engineer, and her team is filled with passionate and determined young adults who aspire to be lawyers, journalists, activists. Saleha looks white. Her black teammates don’t raise as much money. Her canvassing partner is black AND bi-sexual. That’s two strikes against him.

When she decided to do this, I knew she was going to get a very quick lesson on humanity – the good, bad and ugly. There have been a lot of good days. Like when that little kid gave her a penny for the cause, when a guy gave her his last $20, and when people filled up her water bottle on those hot humid days.

Then there are days that leave her angry and nauseous. It breaks my heart, she’s my daughter.

Hate swirls around us each day. Hate makes us angry and invites an infinite amount of negative energy into our lives. And it’s easy to give in to hate.

It’s so easy to hate the people who support the cruel treatment of children at the border. Have you ever felt helpless when your little baby has a fever? Do you hold and comfort your toddler when she wakes up with night terrors? Have you ever felt like you can’t breathe when your teenager goes missing for a few hours?

It’s so easy to hate the people who dismiss the black men and boys who are killed by cops. Have you ever listened to a black mother lecture her teenager before he leaves the house in the morning, so he won’t get killed by a cop? And feel her fear that he won’t come home from school?

It’s so easy to hate the people who think my gay, lesbian and transgender friends are immoral. Do you have friends in this community? Are they kind and respectful human beings? Have you ever been awed by their strength and grace for being proud of who they are despite the amount of hate they receive?

It’s so easy to hate the people who don’t believe women who’ve been raped. Are you a woman? Have you ever been sexually assaulted? Do you remember every single detail like it was yesterday, even if it happened 30 years ago? Wait, what? You’ve never been sexually assaulted? Hang on, you’re a man? Then fuck you.

It’s so easy to hate the racists. Have you ever avoided reading stories of white people proudly declaring their superiority as they are celebrated by leaders and politicians? Have you ever just closed your eyes and tried to wish these stories are fake?

See? It’s so easy to give in to hate. If I do, I can be just like them. Hateful. Angry.

The next day, I picked up Saleha from work. And we had our usual 10:30pm chat. The only time during the week I get to see and talk with her this summer.

“I met a really nice guy who believed the ACLU will change the world, and also a really nice and cute old lady who could only see with one eye. And at this one house, after I got a donation from this woman, her daughter gave me a big hug.  It made me want to cry. Today was infinitely better than yesterday.”

“Maybe that’s what we need to do. To be the one who makes others see that this world has good people. To help others see that there is love around us, not just hate. To be the one that makes others feel disproportionately happy with acts of kindness. To be the one that you tell your mom about at the end of the day.”

Saleha’s experience taught me that I can’t avoid the hate and there are many people who need help. She dived in with the best way she knew how to help. She’s unapologetic about her beliefs and is very outspoken about them. I hope that one day I can be as brave as her. But until then, I can be the one.

“I’m glad this is your last week of work.”

“Me too.”

BIG APPLE

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All I had to do was take Saleha to New York. Not to Africa. And not to Haiti, where I recently saw firsthand what abject poverty looks like. It was in New York, where she learned that she can help poor and hungry people. It is a big leap for a privileged first-world teenager, who was in New York to celebrate her birthday by eating good food, shopping and sightseeing. A teenager–like thousands of others who walk on this planet in a bubble with their heads bowed to their personal electronic devices.

It started that first night with a full belly when she decided to give her leftovers to the first homeless person she saw. Twenty steps later, a very grateful woman took it, her sign declared she had three hungry children. As we walked away, Saleha declared…

…I feel bad.

Well, do you have money?

Yes.

Why don’t you buy her a meal?

Saleha’s offer was graciously turned down repeatedly. Dejected, she walked away.

One day, several conversations, many meals, and a few leftover packs of food later, I asked what we should do on our last day in New York.

I want to spend my money to buy food and give it to the homeless. And I want to find that woman.

My heart ached and soared. An antidote to the weekend of loud screaming lights, wafts of cloying perfume, hours of shopping, and the constant sightings of posters with half naked bodies promising many things. And a soothing healing balm to my own personal wounds inflicted by the teenage verbal and emotional rocks she sometimes throws at me.

After a gluttonous Sunday brunch, armed with bags of sandwiches, off we went to Central Park to find hungry homeless people.

Food

Some were easy, some were not. And we never found that woman.

This is complicated.

It sometimes is, my love.

 

When we got home, she churned ideas with a friend and they are off to pretty solid start on easy ways for people to donate money to Dimes for Dining. With the cash, they are going to make food, and I will drive them to personally feed hungry people on the street. And maybe it won’t be so complicated for right now.

So it was the big city in America that did it. Not a faraway small city with mountains and rivers of trash. It was in New York that she connected with the hungry and homeless who were surrounded by wealth and obscene overindulgence.

For her, and for now, I guess charity does start at home.

ROCKS.

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It’s impossible to prepare for parenthood. Yes you can anticipate the sleepless nights, the constant vigilance on kids as they grow, making sure they are safe, healthy and happy. Easy stuff. But who can honestly anticipate the acute heart break that eventually settles in your soul as these babies turn into little adults, and learn how to navigate the world. It’s the stuff that was written in small print when you bring these wonderful creatures into the world. And you can’t walk away from it.

I give life lessons and love willingly. I also have to be strong enough to receive the mental and verbal rocks that get thrown at me, and have to be resilient enough to either avoid them, or if I’m hit, stand back up and continue giving life lessons and love.

When those rocks come hurtling at me out of nowhere, I have to dig into the recesses of my parenting brain and execute defensive maneuvers. This could include verbal tactics to help illuminate and broaden the small, self-absorbed world of a teen. If the claws come out and further attack ensues, I implement a containment plan: Punishment.  And because their world is so fucking small, their life resumes rather quickly. The rocks get put away, claws retracted. I on the other hand, nurse my wounds for days. My whole body permanently tattooed with more invisible battle scars.

Rinse and repeat.

There’s nothing clinical about this job. It comes with strong emotional and physical bonds. It’s not for the faint of heart. We don’t have armor to be emotionally safe from the havoc of a growing child. The love we feel for these creatures is all consuming. Yesterday I had a fleeting moment of wondering what it would be like to be child-free. Or at the minimum to be free of the anguish, pain and heartache once reserved for the comparatively flighty world of dating.

I need to invest in some serious padding, because I am committed to this job forever. I also need to invest in some self-control because after all, as the husband reminds me, these creatures we love so much are not in control of their emotions. Which makes it all the more important that we stay in control of ours.

And I do so love these creatures.

Sister Power

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Last night during dinner, Saleha gave Lily some advice on what to do when some girls in school make her feel bad about herself.  Girls who make her think she’s not good enough, not pretty enough, not thin enough.

Start with the little things. Remind yourself of the things that make you feel confident and good about yourself. Then sit up straighter, and walk tall.

Sometimes these words mean the world when they come from a big sister. Times like this I am reminded why I was so happy when I found out I was going to have two girls. And why I always wanted a sister. This is girl power. This is why women need each other when we are adults and why girls should be taught young to prop each other up, not put each other down.

Saleha also shared something else she learned in middle school.

Try this. Think of something about yourself, write it down on a piece of paper. On the other side, write “it’s okay.”

It was hard for Lily. She wrote things like “I’m fat, I’m not pretty…”

But that’s all not true Lily. My friends think you are pretty.

Compliment from big sister! Big eyes, jaw drop, huge smile. Wow.

At bed time, Lily tried again after I turned off the lights.

I’m really scared of roller coasters. And it’s okay. I’m not as pretty as some girls. And it’s okay.

I’m terrified of roller coasters too my love. And it’s okay.

Saleha did have one more piece of advice at dinner.

Tell those girls you can run faster, you are strong, and you can do more pushups than any of them.

That’s right sista. When in doubt, show them how you can kick ass.

A phone call

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It was too long to txt.

That’s what my daughter Saleha said after she got a phone call from her friend Evelyn as we walked in the door from a school concert. Evelyn called to tell Saleha that her grandmother died. Some things, I guess, are just too long, or too complicated to txt. Or maybe the 😦 emoticon wasn’t enough. Or maybe Evelyn needed to hear a voice—Saleha’s voice. I will never know. But what I do know is she called. And Evelyn gave me hope.

 I’m sorry Evelyn

It will be okay

I’m so sorry your grandmother died Evelyn

I knew of Sharon’s death earlier that morning from Evelyn’s parents, good friends of ours. So I knew what Evelyn’s call was about. I listened to the conversation, saw the look on Saleha’s face, encouraged her to go on, gave her the thumbs up with each time she offered Evelyn comfort.  

I didn’t know what to say

But she did. For the first time ever, Saleha had to console a grieving friend. Grandma Sharon lived with Eveyln’s family for more than a year while receiving cancer treatments. The whole family entered that world of living with illness and possible death—a place we’re all familiar with, but often not from first-hand experience.

Saleha’s cell phone rarely leaves her side. At 7pm each night she has to put it away–along with any other electronics. No emails, no more Google chats, etc. That’s the rule. I’ve been trying to show Saleha that it’s important to know how to communicate by talking, and not just from that safe txt-ing place.

Well, last night, Evelyn showed Saleha that sometimes friends need to hear a voice. And I hope Saleha learned that sometimes, friends just need to know she’s there to listen. So many lessons with one short phone call.

Sharon, I will listen to Elton John all day today…

Advice for my daughter

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Last night after an evening at Saleha’s school’s Spring Concert, I inadvertantly got her worked up and mad. All I did was ask a few questions about the performance. She was upset that earlier in the week during the school-time performance, kids were falling asleep during the orchestra program. She was so ticked off at her orchestra director for his music selection. BORING. She was mad as hell that he invites suggestions on what to play, but disregards their input. She was angry that the band director and her band kids composed a song to tell the world that band is better than orchestra. Saleha was pissed off that she is often the one voice among many who has to defend classical music.

My oh my. So this is one of those teaching moments us parents have to grab and run with right? I hope I passed the test.

“All the kids say that music is not going to take me far in life.”

Did you know there are studies that show that music actually helps students in areas like math?

“Yes, music is like fractions.” (She went into a complicated rapid explanation on how she breaks down music notes to keep time and rhythm)

Huh.

“I wish we would play more modern music in orchestra so kids wouldn’t fall asleep.”

But you love classical music right?

“Yes, but I was the only one in Spanish class this week who thinks classical music is cool. Everyone else thinks it is boring.”

You know if you ever want to stop playing violin because you don’t want to, I would never stop you. But I hope you never stop playing because other kids say it isn’t cool.”

Silence

You feel bad because you have to defend yourself all the time, ya?

“Ya.”

This is just the beginning my love. It’s going to get harder. You should always be true to yourself.

Silence.

Saleha, I believe there are two things that bring the world together. Food and music.

Smile.

It’s hard to explain why you love your music, right? And if you meet someone from Russia, China, Germany, or anywhere in the world, they may not speak English. But if they can play the piano or violin like you, they can share the same love you have for music. And it will bring all of you together. You don’t have to use words to communicate. It’s like music is a language understood by everyone in the world.

“So what you’re saying is music is part of the International Baccalaureate program?”

It sure seems like it, doesn’t it? You tell that to those IB kids in band and in your Spanish class.”

Grins.

Tomorrow do some research on studies that have been done on how music helps students with learning. And next time you have to defend yourself, you will have the facts. Maybe you can also somehow use these findings for the school science fair next year.

Eyes get huge. (Can see brain working in her head)

Good night my love.

“Good night Mama. I love you.”

I love you too.

Marathons are for Mothers

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Being a parent is like training for a marathon. Or at least I think it is since I’ve never run one (more on that some other time). You must build stamina and endurance, think positive to push for that extra mile, and don’t let the bad training days get you down. Because crossing the finish line is priceless. But where is the finish line for parents?

Lately, my mother marathon training isn’t going well. My mental endurance is tapped, my energy level is low, and I’ve hit a wall. My consistent effort to do the right thing is met with consistent resistance, and I am tired of being labeled the bad guy for trying to teach my kids to be good. 

Go away, GUILT
I also have a cloud hovering over this mental exhaustion called GUILT. She follows me like a shadow, appears in the shower with me when I take that extra-hot-water-minute, or sleep in on the weekends past 7. GUILT doesn’t allow me to peacefully do what my conscience tells me to, and she doesn’t allow me to dole out tough love without quickly stabbing my heart. Ah GUILT. My constant companion since my first child was born.

I do turn into a psycho bitch occasionally when I reach the point of no return. Playing the lawyer and defending my actions with my kids can get tiring. After a tennis match of arguments, it eventually will dawn on me that I don’t have to defend myself to them – and bloody hell, I’m doing this because I love them. So I lose it, and sometimes, I lose it big. Then GUILT slaps me hard. Sometimes, I want to stop this mother marathon training. Sigh.

Love, love, love
But here’s the thing — I love my two girls so much, and cannot imagine my life without them. Every day I do my damned best to make sure they are well fed, clean, safe, healthy and happy.  Every day I try to teach them to be kind and respectful. Every day I try to read their minds and actions to make sure they are happy inside, no matter what the outside says. Every day I try to listen to their words and be sure I understand what they really mean. And every day I try to make sure they know that I love them, especially if we say many angry words to each other. It’s just that on many days, I simply don’t have the energy, patience or wherewithal to DO all these right things (SHUT UP GUILT).

What would it be like to have just one day without the cares of being a mother? And be free of the worry, the responsibilities, and of GUILT. It could be like my rest day when I don’t train.

Till I die? Really?
So how do I train for this mother marathon? I know many other mothers (and fathers) go through this daily. But knowing this doesn’t make it any easier. Or strengthen my mental endurance. Recently after yet another battle, my teary apologetic younger daughter asked me why I decided to have children. I said I wanted to love a child or two, and because the world needs more good people. Is that my finish line? When I can witness what kind of people my children turn out to be? 30-40 years from now? Or right up till I die? That’s a long time to be training.

I clearly need to increase my stamina and endurance. I need to introduce a new element to my training regime to shake things up.

HUMOR! WHERE ARE YOU?